My Garde
by Celeste K. Raven
Summary: A series of one-shots, mostly from Henri's point of view, while he was raising Four on Earth.
1. Storm

I think its the thunder that woke me up; it blasted like a hundred gunshots. I roll over on my side and watch water stir in its glass, my mind still hazy from sleep. The whole house is vibrating and I curse myself for not picking a sturdier one.

At least I know it won't crumble down on top of us.

My room is dark, shadowy, but I know that lightning is lighting up the sky just behind the curtains.

_BOOM! BOOM!_

I have perfect pitch –a gift of my race- but I can only tune noise out so much. Even the rain roars in my ears.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

Now I am wide awake. _This is a shit strong storm._

_BOOM! _And then, much quieter, a creak. From out in the hallway.

I stop trying to block out sound. _Creaking… creaking… _

My door opens; a thin beam of light shines across my body, into my eyes. I can see a little blonde boy thorough my squint. He is pale, white as a sheet except for his blushed face. His cheeks have wet streaks. His bottom lip is pursed in a pout.

''Henri…'' he says in a high voice.

''What is wrong?''

''I don't like the booming.''

''It's just thunder, you're fine.''

''_I don't like it,_'' he insists with a hint of panic.

He opens the door wider, letting himself in. A blanket drags behind him. It is large, slowing him down. He moves towards me awkwardly.

_BOOM! BOOM!_

He trips and falls on his hands and knees. The blanket is stuck on the door, pulling it closed as he tugs on his cover. Little tears keep falling from his eyes.

The sound of his whimper draws me from my bed. I free the blanket and hold out my hand for him. I intend to carry him back to bed, wrap him up tight, leave him feeling safe.

Instead he runs to my bed and lifts himself up, six year old hands throwing pillows on the floor to make room.

I am too tired for this. My strong back and shoulders ache from handling heavy boxes. My mind is still blurred with small letters and fine prints.

''Come to bed, I will put you away.'' _Uh… _''Err, tuck you in.''

He pats the space next to him, willing _me_ to come to bed in his place. I know that little wet droplets are waiting right behind those big blue eyes. If I force him away he will cry all night. If I give in I'll sleep guilt free.

There is an awkwardness in allowing him to stay with me. I will be very aware of his presence.

_BOOM! _

Guilt free but uncomfortable.

_This is _not_ my grandchild… _

_He _is_ my Garde…_

_I am the only person he has on this planet…_

I move forward and he lies down, hands grasping the sheets tightly. A smile plays on lips when I should be feeling annoyance. He is strong compared to human child, but he is not human and neither am I. He could not fight me off if his delicate life depended on it, which makes me want to protect him more.

I lift his head carefully and place a pillow under it. He makes a happy sound; a high, gentle breath. I cover him with a blanket, tucking the edges under his body. He lays on top of my covers while I crawl under, allowing a space between us.

I feel like there is something I should say. No words come to mind.

We are silent for a few moments.

_BOOM! BOOM! _

I do not see his hand move, only feel it touching my left leg. I jerk away instinctively.

_Relax… relax…_

''You might be able to do this one day,'' I say suddenly. His eyes open. I hope he wasn't asleep.

''Make it stop,'' he whispers.

_BOOM! _

He ducks his head under the covers. I listen carefully for snivels. I will not know what to do if he starts to sob and will not stop, but I do not think he is crying yet.

I talk fast. ''You'll be able to make it stop by yourself.'' _Eventually. Maybe._

He doesn't respond, just keeps his face hidden. He is still that way when I fall asleep.

* * *

**This chapter is dedicated to BluePhantom15, the author of my favorite I Am Number Four fic: Protection. If you like Henri and John family stories you should check it out! **

**Comment? Croutons? Constructive Criticism? I'd love some feedback from you guys. **

**Write On!**

**P.s) Does anyone else think Henri was way tougher on John in the movie? He was almost a jerk, I thought, but in the book he was totally different. More… laid back. I don't think that Henri would have fought John the way the one in the movie did. Opinion? **


	2. All Hallows' Eve

I grimace at the silly pumpkin lollipop Four is shoving in my face.

''Let's get these ones, Henri!'' His eyes plead with me.

''Not at two ninety-nine a pop,'' I say, glancing at the decorative display. We are buying the cheapest bag they sell and getting the hell out of here.

Of all the major ''holidays'' the humans decide to celebrate, All Hallows' Eve is by far the most obnoxious. I protected him from the horrors (no pun intended) of October thirty-first for two years.

_''Henri,'' Four questioned, pressing his face against the icy windowpane. ''why are those men dressed funny?''_

_I didn't look up from my computer. ''They're cult members, Luke. Just give 'um the candy.''_

But now, thanks to one of his classmates, the charade is over. Four is going to wonder the block demanding candy from every stranger in sight and I am going to trudge behind him with an axe the entire time.

I slip some assorted candies in our cart while Four is busy admiring a tube of white face paint.

''What's a mime,'' he asks.

I glance at the picture on the package. _What person on this planet has the ability to make themself look like _that_? _

''A waste of time,'' I murmur, but he has already moved on to bigger and better things.

Like zombies.

''I want to be _him_,'' he says, pointing excitedly. I'm sure he won't settle for a sheet ghost; apparently this is the next best thing.

I roll my eyes at his antics and check my watch. We've been here long enough.

''Throw it in, we've got to go.''

''I've got to make sure it's the right fit first,'' he says. He holds it up to his chest, eyes roaming the store for a mirror, but I'm _done_.

''This one fits you,'' I say, grabbing a medium off the rack. He frowns a little but puts the other costume back without complaint.

''You can try it on as soon as we get home,'' I say with a small sigh.

All Hollows' Eve is two days away yet, but I know that Halloween isn't just an evening; it's a season lasting two months for big business, two and half for naysayers and anyone who favors any color other than black, orange or purple.

* * *

He refused to let me help him into the outfit –which has more buttons, zippers and clips then a Lorien spacesuit- but sits silent and straight-backed in the kitchen, allowing me to apply fake blood to his face and torso.

''Horrifying,'' I say, tempted to wipe the sticky redness off on my shirt.

''Boo,'' he says quietly.

This is the one day where standing out means blending in. Good for mogs, good for us. His standard mask and bandages are good for us too. Still, I will not let him out of my sight.

The candy is out in a bowl on the porch, certain to be taken in whole by the first greedy teenager who decides to take advantage of our absence, but I could care less. Now I will find a sharp object to pose as part of my costume.

''Henri,'' my Garde starts, ''what are _you_ for Halloween?''

''An alien,'' I say humorlessly.

He giggles at me but still insists; ''No, really.''

I think about my resources. ''A bodyguard.''

* * *

**Don't come away from this chapter thinking I dislike Halloween; I don't. I just think Henri would. :)**

**I'll take suggestions if anyone has any to offer, but I won't promise to write out all of them. I can only write what my mind allows me to. Sometimes the words just don't come. **

**Write On!**


	3. Who Wants To Know?

The hospital has a _dipped-in-__antiseptic _feel about it. So do I.

I am a zombie. Anxiety and cold fear numb me to the core. I stumble my way to the front desk, missing many wonderful opportunities to be polite.

Four is in an 'unstable condition'.

_''Mr. Reed? This is Mindy from the front desk at Walden Elementary school. There was an emergency in Mrs. Swift's class today. Your son Noah was injured and has been declared to be in an unstable condition. He is on the way to the infirmary on Maine Street…'' _

She gave the address to the floor as I sped off for Maine Street.

Four got hurt –and hurt _bad_- and I wasn't there to protect him. Now he is in the ER where they will ask too many questions and I can only wish on a star that he gives them all the right answers.

How did this happen?

''Are you visiting a patent, sir?''

''My son, Noah Reed.''

_Click. Click._ ''Ah… yes. I'll have to direct you to the Inquiry office in the B Wing.''

''I don't have questions; I want to see my son.''

''I understand your concern, Mr. Reed, but it would appear that the police department have some questions for _you_.''

Shit.

* * *

''My name is Willa Foster. I'm the principle of Noah's school.''

Her hands are cold and wrinkly, like her face. Tall stature, thin lips, dark hair twisted into a bun. Perfect principle material.

''Henri Reed, ma'am. I wish we could meet under better circumstances.''

''Indeed. I'm glad you could make it here so quickly. You live only a few blocks away, correct?''

''Em-hum.''

The heavy door slams shut behind me. The room is empty except for a desk, three chairs, a worried father, a principle and two policemen. One steps forward and nods his head at me.

''I'm Officer Kent and my friend here is Officer Helds. We'd like to ask you a few questions.''

I nod back, preventing myself from licking my lips. Somehow it seems like guilty-man behavior.

Mrs. Foster sits behind the desk while I take the second seat. The officers remain standing as they question me.

''Mr. Reed, are you aware of any attempts made by your son to give himself a permanent tattoo?''

That sounds just stupid enough that an older Four might try it. I shake my head, storing the thought away for later.

''Have you ever attempted to give Noah a tattoo yourself.''

It clicks, and I'm tempted to smack myself.

John has his second scar. Number Two is dead.

I try to make myself feel better by considering that I knew the truth, but was to admit it, even to myself. But that's not true. The scar should've been the first thing in my mind when they told me John was in the hospital.

I am losing sight of our purpose, and that is dangerous.

''Doctor Livan found two scars on Noah. One on his right ankle and the other higher up on his leg. We are considering the possibility that he was trying to give himself a tattoo with his scissors during class, since the marks look intentional, but they are very deep and, shall I say, neat. They look like they were done on purpose by someone who knew how to curve skin. Also, the scar on his ankle appears to be old. Maybe a few years old.''

I listen in silence. I am overwhelmed. I do not know how I will get us out of this situation. _I'm so sorry Four. _

The officer eyes me, waiting for me to explain the first scar to him. I am afraid of saying something wrong. Finally he continues:

''Have you ever touched Noah in a way that might make him feel pain or discomfort?''

I am unable to absorb this question. My mouth opens and something dumb is about to come out.

''What?''

It is not defensive, just surprised. I suppose that's good.

''Have you ever touched Noah in a way that might make him feel pain or discomfort?''

Yeah. That's what I thought you said.

The idea is absurd. I am Four's Cêpan. I've made a promise to him and to all of Lorien that I will hide him from the Mogs, nurture his Legacies, and protect him with my life. I will never break that vow.

But these people know nothing of Cêpans or Gardes. They are only aware that, should I give them a wrong answer here, they may have to cart me off to prison.

I could fight my way out, out of this room, out of this hospital, with Four in tow. It would be disastrous, we'd have leave America, but I would do it if they tried to take him away from me.

''No. Why would I want to hurt my own son?''

Mrs. Foster is looking very uncomfortable. I wonder if the policemen are going to ask her to leave, but they do not.

''Do you believe in corporal punishment?''

I've never given it much thought. ''Yes.''

''Have you even punished Noah in a harsh, physical manner?''

''He's received one or two spankings in his life, but he's a good kid. ''

Not true, the spanking part at least. Discipline isn't my forte; mostly he just misses dinner and spends the evening in his room.

The officer's hard eyes have softened a bit. I began to hope that I have won him over.

''Alright, Mr. Reed. We had to ask. Mrs. Foster will take you to your son now. We don't want to frighten him any worse today with the sight of police.''

''No, of course not.''

* * *

**This is my version of what happed when Henri was accused of child abuse. **

**Write On! **


End file.
